Humiliation, Aisle 12

#@$^@%#^*^@$)*$@!^!@#)&@&^!$#$!#@@!!!
That's the nice way of putting it. This morning, my first day back to work since Friday (babysitter issues) I find my computer gone.
"Ummm, where is my computer?" I ask.
"Being worked on," chirps Fifi.
I roll my eyes and call our computer guy to see what's up. He informs me that my desktop had contracted some nasty virus. LOVELY. What, exactly, is the point of anti-virus software if it doesn't work?! Blah. Good thing it's already Wednesday.
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When I walked in this morning (only TWO minutes late! That's gotta be a record for me), Fifi informed me that she had a special job for me this morning. I kinda hold my breath, waiting to see what little task she had in mind.
"I want you to go over to Tres Chic (not the store's real name, but close to it) at 8:30. They'll know what to do."
Tres Chic is Fifi's favorite little clothing boutique. In fact, she's there shopping as I type. Every few months she sends me over there and two ridiculously overdressed sales girls try to get me to try on all of their new line. GREAT.
I drive over, in the pouring rain and howling winds, finding myself a spot right in front. I hadn't gotten both feet inside before my coat was taken and I heard, "Coffee, dear?"
I politely decline and head to the tiny corner where they keep my size. Most of the shop is stocked with unbelievably tiny clothing. I find the people down here are mighty small. Not only in weight, but in stature as well. I attribute it to all the smoking and drinking people do down here in South Louisiana.
I picked out a few items and the girls hussled them to my waiting dressing room. As I start to unzip my pants I realize something. I'm not wearing matching bra and panties. Oh God. A quick check reveals an ugly mamma-type neutral bra and white panties with blue flowers. Thank the good lord I didn't opt for a thong this morning. You see, this is the kind of place where they assist you in dressing. Yes, the door to the dressing room essentially stays open while sales girls whisk in and out with new outfits. One stays in zipping and tugging at the clothes till they look just right to her.
I sheepishly try to hide myself, although exactly how I thought I was hiding my entire body behind my two arms is beyond me.
One sales girl pops in with an armload of new clothes, "What size top are we now darling? Small? Medium-ish?"
"Not if you want me to be able to breathe," I respond.
Blank looks. "No ma'am, large please."
An older, more refined looking saleswoman walks in and gives me the once over. "You know dear, you're looking good. Still nursing I see" as she glances at my chest,"You've got to try and keep that weight down though." How exactly do you respond to that? Its kind of a backhanded compliment...I think. I inform her that I quit nursing in November and that I'm just big busted, but that I'm hoping they shrink some. She kinda smirks and walks off.
In all, I walked out with several hundred dollars worth of new clothes. Some of it is so fancy, I'm not sure where I'll wear it. Apparently they had The Dude's aunt, Fifi, on the phone the whole time, giving her a play by play account of what I was trying on and how it fit. She was making some executive decisions on some of the outfits, based on their assessments. Seriously, where am I going to wear a rust colored ,3/4 length sleeve, suede jacket??? Yes it's adorable, but really, we live in an area where it rains most days.
Now I have another problem....I need shoes to match! ZING!!!!!!